


Blaze II

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Rough Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/567044">Blaze</a>. My brain is firmly stuck on how wonderful the burning Autobot base was at the end of Season 2, and how there is not nearly enough porn of this. And hence... Starscream and Megatron make it their favorite fuck-spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blaze II

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [TFPaddict](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TFPaddict/pseuds/TFPaddict) for beta reading.

They returned to this place often. 

It wasn't as appealing now as it once had been, flames curling up from the blackened and twisted metal, lighting the night sky in a brilliant blaze of orange and red, smoke billowing from the wreckage.

Now only darkness remained: the black of the night sky, spangled with a glitter of stars. And the black of soot staining metal. The half-melted piles of scrap rising around them had once been ceilings, floors, walls. Close by them stood the mangled remains of a console. Beyond it lay the broken arch of what had once been a ground-bridge portal.

The last of the embers had grown cold, giving neither light nor heat. They came back anyway. 

Megatron flew in first, his massive frame blotting out the stars. Starscream came after, his slender form a streak of silver gleaming against the black.

They needed neither homing protocols nor navigation devices to find their way through the ruined Autobot base. They did not even bother to look down, searching for the blasted remains of their enemies' symbol painted on what once had been a floor.

They simply flew, and found what they sought, and transformed as they landed. Megatron's cloven feet hit the ground with a resounding thud, the impact deepening cracks in the already riven metal. Starscream touched down lightly, polished metal heels clicking against the plates of the torn floor.

In their tower and on their ship, they were inventive. Sometimes Starscream knelt in front of Megatron, the warlord's thick spike stretching his throat as Megatron's hands wrenched hard enough at his wings to make the joints bleed blue, glowing energon. Sometimes Megatron drove his claws deep into Starscream's valve, watching the Seeker writhe as his pleasure intensified, both mechs knowing that Megatron's sharp clawtips would tear his insides to scrap if he thrashed too hard. Sometimes Megatron traced scarred mouthplates over the rim of his partner's valve, opening his mouth to worry the delicate sensors with his fangs before soothing away the sting with his glossa.

And, of course, there were endless ways for Megatron to stuff his spike into Starscream's dainty but insatiable valve.

But when they came here, it was always the same.

They always did what they had done that first time, their frames hot with the heat of the conflagration as they winged in to watch their enemies' base burn, at last, around them. When they'd first alit here, landing on the shattered symbol of their vanquished foes and laughing, victory-drunk, at the ring of flames rising around them.

Starscream had ended up on his hands and knees, his claws gouging slashes through the Autobot symbol beneath him. Then, the heat had seared his hands; now, he felt nothing but the blaze of his sensors set afire by Megatron's massive spike stretching him open.

Smears of Starscream's lubricant and Megatron's transfluid had dried on the floor; now fresh fluids dripped from Starscream's valve, pushed out by Megatron's movements as he drove deep, clutching tight at slender hips.

Starscream moved too, meeting Megatron's thrusts undaunted by the big mech's size. He threw back his head and howled -- or would have, if his vocalizer hadn't already given out long ago. Now he screeched, a cry that dissolved into static only to pick up again and emerge from the raw vocalizer as a sharp, keening burst of sound. 

He slammed his hips backward, impaling himself on his valve's invader until Megatron's spike hit bottom, then impatiently doing it all again.

It was easy, as the heat built up in Starscream's shuddering valve and in the twitching spike buried to the hilt inside it, for Starscream and Megatron alike to shutter their bright optics. It was easy to remember the flames rising around them on the night of their triumph, the cold dormancy of the ruins giving way to the heat of the reckoning flames that had scoured this place clean.

And though the skies did not flare orange with the fire's light, that didn't matter. This was theirs, their own private fire, singing through their systems and crackling in their sparks.

And the wreckage of their enemies' stronghold belonged to them now. They had seized it, and held it, and the blackened, twisted metal around them testified to their claim on it.

It was theirs by right of conquest. They had as long as they could hold it to relive the night of their triumph.


End file.
